Review from Raymond Hamilton: "Never Volunteer... is a glimpse of genius. As always Chris Castle weaves family, emotions, loss and friendships into one story and makes an epic heart-wrenching tale of relationships and the human condition. His grasp of human nature surpasses the best of qualified psychiatrists. Chris Castle has not written a young adult story as an adult. He has written a story for all adults using the perspective of eager, passionate, spirited youth. Therein lies the proof that we will hear Chris Castle's name echo in literary circles soon enough." Excerpt: He spoke her name gently, listening to it drift over the static and the breeze. She did not move. He walked toward her, stopped short of her, waiting. They song carried on, nearly finished, until at last she turned to face him. She leaned into him, knocking him back, kissing him. He moved back into her, kissing with all he could, pushing her against the wall, rocking the radio, not disturbing the perfect, quiet static. He pulled at the strap of her top, twisting it around his finger, pulling it until fell into his palm. She moved away for a moment, and let him see her. In the moonlight he could see her shape, her outline. She stood, still, only moving with each breath, waiting. Waiting until the traffic outside moved by outside, shining lights onto her body, pushing her into the light. Not until the traffic moved did she move towards him. They kissed, and she tilted her head to look at him, smiling, both of them tense, easing with gentle laughter, until she raised a finger to his brow, running his eyelid down over his eye. Then moving a thumb to the other, until he was back into darkness where he stood, feeling the buttons of his shirt open, the final two torn, feeling the snag of the shirt as it hooked onto the oversized belt, until that also fell loose. They moved through the night, staying in the moonlight, staying in the shadows and the occasional beams of traffic light. As he held her hips he felt a short red scar, like a demons lip run across her hip. He ran his finger across it. He felt the coolness of her silver ankle chain as she moved across him that felt cool as rain. She circled the outline of his tattoo with her finger, with her tongue. They moved in near silence, their bodies combining, their breathing filling the rooms, the radio still playing.